Parsley Cake with Crème Fraîche and Honey, It's Vermont After All

I was in Waitsfield, Vermont last weekend.  Nowhere is vacation mode more apparent than a town that seems to propel itself on beer, bikes, and National Geographic hair.  The town is perpetually breezy.  I get the feeling July is alive and well there all year round.

I visited a vineyard and sat in the grass with friends, and a baby, and listened to a local band named the Grift, and drank wine in jam jars. We ate Israeli couscous salad and shards of sharp cheese and rolled up cured meats surrounded by grape vines.

In the morning, we went to the farmers’ market where we had blackberry Danish and looked at sheepskin rugs touting local origins and tasted beer jelly made from Vermont brew. We bought red-skinned potatoes and haricot vert and dill, all of which found entry into a potato salad drenched with local crème fraîche later that evening.

We sampled smoked chèvre and an aged ash cheese called Black Madonna from the Sage Farm Goat Dairylady, and I felt closer to France than I have in a long time.  Then we went on a search for Heady Topper, for which there was none in the entire state.  Apparently, we were too laidback in our acquisition efforts—even compared to native Vermonters, who all seem to know that the beer delivery happens on Monday and must set their watches accordingly. 

So we hiked. Then went on a bar crawl for three. Chatted with the owner of Localfolk Smokehouse about his recent perfection of a spicy barbeque sauce recipe.  And finally found some loosies of Heady Topper at the bar of Hostel Tevere, run by a husband and wife team.  All the while in the company of a three-month-old possessing a very chill Vermont-y attitude, until the witching hour of 7 pm.

That evening I saw fireflies after dinner, and felt closer to childhood than I have in a long time.  And in the morning we had parsley cake for breakfast.

Which I will file away as the unofficial dessert of the Green Mountain State.  It is fern-colored and pleasantly grassy, if you will permit me to use such a ridiculous phrase as a selling point. It carries laidback sweetness, which allows the herbs to become softened by dairy. 

For this role, I recommend crème fraîche spiked with honey.  Old-fashioned vanilla ice cream would work equally as well, though less traditional as a breakfast option.  As one friend put it, the sweetened fraîche tasted of “warm ice cream.”  So there’s that, too.

I interpreted this positively, since he had multiple servings throughout the weekend.  No judgment on either account. It’s Vermont, after all.

The recipe is from a restaurant in Brooklyn called Roberta’s with a cult following.  In full disclosure: I haven’t been, though it wields an inspirational vibe and appears to be the kind of joint that can make pizza and parsley infinitely interesting, and unexpected.

Kind of like beer in jelly. Babies in bars.  And parsley in cake.

Parsley Cake with Crème Fraîche and Honey

Adapted from Food52 and Roberta’s Cookbook

Ingredients:

• 130 grams (about 3½ tightly-packed cups) parsley leaves (stems removed)
• 50 grams (about 1½ tightly-packed cups) mint leaves (stems removed)
• 165 grams (¾ cup) extra virgin olive oil
• 290 grams (2 cups plus 1 tbsp) flour
• 15 grams (1 tbsp plus 2 tsp) cornstarch
• 7 grams (2¼ tsp) kosher salt
• 8 grams (1½ tsp) baking powder
• 4 large eggs, room temperature
• 330 grams (1 2/3 cups) sugar
• 1 tsp vanilla extract
• zest of 1 lime
• zest of 1 lemon
• serve with
• crème fraîche (sweeten with vanilla bean and honey or maple syrup, if desired)
• honey (to drizzle on top)

Instructions:

In a food processor or blender, place 1/3 of the herbs and process until well crushed and broken down.  Add the remaining herbs in one or two more additions, depending on the size of your machine, and puree, stopping occasionally to stir the herbs and scrape them off the sides and toward the blade.

When the herbs are fairly well pulverized, stream in half the olive oil and pulse until combined.  

Add remaining oil and blend for 10 seconds longer.  Scrape into a bowl and refrigerate until ready to use.

In a medium bowl, sift together the flour, cornstarch, salt, and baking powder; set aside.

In a stand mixer with a paddle attachment, whip the eggs for 30 seconds; add the sugar and mix on high speed until light yellow and fluffy (about 3 minutes).  On low, slowly stream in the herb mixture and mix until combined.

With the machine on low, add the flour mixture a third at a time (do this quickly and don’t allow the flour to incorporate in before adding the next bit—this shouldn’t take more than 10 or 15 seconds).  Stop the mixer and add the vanilla and zest and stir with a rubber spatula until just combined (the flour should be fully incorporated but take care not to overmix). Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 6 and up to 24 hours.

When you are ready to bake, set the oven to 340 degrees.  Butter a loaf pan (I used two narrow ones—10 x 3½ and 7 x 3½), line with parchment paper (with the paper hanging over the sides), and then butter the parchment.  Pour in the batter and smooth with a spatula.

Bake for about 40 to 50 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean when inserted into the center of the cake. (The reference recipe has the cake bake for only 15 to 20 minutes, but they use a sheet pan which makes for a shallower cake and a faster cooking time; watch closely depending on your baking receptacle.)

Let cool in the pan.  Serve with a dollop of crème fraîche and a drizzle of honey.

Makes enough for about 12 humans

Notes:

1. Any leftovers can be stored in the freezer.
2. Note the batter hangs in the fridge for a least 6 hours before baking.
    

Rye Cacao Nib Shortbreads (Plus, Don’t Be a Kimono-Wearing Earthworm)

In the “How Not to be an Earthworm” chapter of M.F.K. Fisher’s 1942 book, How to Cook a Wolf, she notes,  “A useful thing to have on your shelf is a supply of gingersnaps or vanilla wafers.”
Fisher was advising on the economical gastronomy of blackout rooms and emergency rations. 

But this struck a cord. The delicate nature of a thin, crisp cookie awards certain pleasures during most un-delicate situations. 

Useful advice.  I have been experiencing some residual effects of a very unromantic breakup and lease break.  Personal unpleasantries. To be clear, nowhere near wartime.  But psychological shrapnel nonetheless. 

I tend to recognize a hovering emotional raincloud when I start reflexive leisurewear shopping.  I am drawn to glorified robes and wide legged pants.  Garments that I will probably try to pass off as “bohemian” on the street.

And so I found solace in Fisher’s plucky chapter on how to make the best of times in the worst of times.  I minded her warning against becoming a metaphorical earthworm.  Took note of her practical cookie employment.  And decided to dial down on the kimonos. 

Thus the protection today comes in the form of a steady supply of wispy shortbreads.  Of which I suggest a healthy therapeutic dose. 

The rounds are fairly mildly flavored, despite any preconceptions about rye.  It brings similar characteristics that whole wheat would, but I’d argue rye is slightly sturdier.  Pleasantly rustic.  

And a fine partner for the cacao nibs, which have lingering whispers of coffee.  All of this is bound by butter and turns toffee-like after a few days.

My advice is to squirrel some away in your freezer.  They get better with age.  I also suggest you listen to Fisher with whatever battles you’re facing.  Cookies or no cookies.  She closes out her chapter by saying:

“Use as many fresh things as you can, always, and then trust to luck and your blackout cupboard and what you have decided, inside yourself, about the dignity of man.”

Rye Cacao Nib Shortbreads

Adapted from Orangette and Alice Medrich

Ingredients:

• 1 cup rye flour
• 1 cup all-purpose (or 1 scant cup whole wheat pastry flour)-see note
• 1 tsp cinnamon
• 1¾ sticks (14 tbsp) unsalted butter, softened
• ½ cup sugar
• ¼ tsp salt
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 1/3 cup chocolate covered cacao nibs

Instructions:

Sift the two flours and the cinnamon over a medium bowl.  In the bowl of a kitchen stand mixer, beat the butter, sugar, salt, and vanilla until smooth and creamy (but not overly fluffy), about 1 minute.  Scrape down the sides with a spatula and then mix in the cacao nibs.

With the mixer on low, add in the flour and then stir with the spatula until just incorporated.  

Place the mound of dough onto plastic wrap and shape into a 12 x 2-inch log.  Wrap up the log and smooth out any uneven areas so it is fairly uniform in size. Refrigerate 2 hours or overnight.

Set the oven to 350 degrees and line 2 cookie sheets with parchment paper.  Using a sharp knife, cut the cold dough into ¼-inch slices and place about 1½ inches apart.  (You should be able to fit 12 to 15 per sheet.)

Bake 12 to 14 minutes, or until the cookies turn light golden brown at their edges.  (Rotate the pans half away through the cooking.) Leave them to cool for a minute or two and then place them on a wire rack to fully cool.  Repeat with remaining dough.

Makes about 40 cookies

Notes:

1. These get better the longer they sit.  And I’ve found they turn nutty after about a week. (They last brilliantly in the freezer; Molly also mentions they’ll store at room temperature for up to a month, if they actually last that long.)
2. I have made these with all-purpose and whole wheat pastry flour. Both with great results, though the whole grain lent a certain nutty edge.  It won’t be the end of the world if you use a full cup of the whole wheat pastry flour, but slightly less than that will make them less likely to crumble.
    

Butterscotch Pots de Crème, a Peace Offering

Let us see.  Where to begin?  

Much has happened since we last left off.  I have moved, suffered a terribly sad breakup, a gladiatorial chest-rattling ailment, and a two-hour midterm on microbes.

Instead of feeling incredibly weepy for myself, I come here today with an offering of pots de crème for the universe.  Essentially, this is pudding.  But pudding so good it has silenced rooms. 

I have yet to see it last longer than a minute or two in any human’s presence and have made the recipe a couple times—once with muscovado and later on with plain old brown sugar.  If you do not have the former do not be dissuaded.  In either case, it is well worth the pint of cream.

The result is more custardy than you might expect—heavy cream and egg yolks will do that.  It is not tooth-achingly sweet either, as some butterscotch desserts can be.  I also highly recommend leaving the cloud of whipped cream on top unsweetened.  It wonderfully balances the rich, toasty caramel that lies beneath.

The recipe conveniently makes four dinner guest-sized portions.  Except when you are only having two dinner guests.  Then you have a double ration for the cook.  Or perhaps you walk the ancillary portion down to your friends at the neighborhood wine shop? Who devour it in your presence.  And swear a little doing so.

The point is, no one who has seen the likes of these pots de crème has been able to resist them.  Nothing but praise.  Dishes scraped clean.  So tuck this recipe away for a day when you need a little extra oomph. 

Because all is fair in love, war, and pudding.

Butterscotch Pots de Crème

Adapted from Orangette and Gourmet

Ingredients:

• 2 cups (1 pint) heavy cream, divided
• 6 tbsp dark muscovado sugar or dark brown sugar
• ¼ tsp salt
• 2 tbsp demerara sugar
• 4 egg yolks
• 1 tsp vanilla extract

Instructions:

Set your oven to 300 degrees and make sure you have a rack positioned on the middle level.  In a small saucepan, combine 1½ cups of heavy cream with the muscovado (or brown sugar) and salt.  

Bring to barely a simmer on medium heat, stirring occasionally until the sugar is dissolved.  Remove from the heat.

In a medium saucepan, combine 6 tbsp of water with the demerara sugar over medium heat, swirling the pan occasionally, until the sugar gets browned and bubbly (it helps if you don’t use a dark-colored pan, so you can easily check the hue).  You’ll want it almost chestnut in color (this should take about 5 minutes).

Remove the browned sugar liquid from the heat and slowly add in the cream mixture, whisking to combine. In a large bowl, whisk together the egg yolks and vanilla and then add the hot cream mixture in a slow, thin stream, continuously whisking until combined. 

Set a fine-mesh sieve over a glass measuring cup and pour the custard through (you’ll need a 1-quart size or you’ll have to pour it in batches).  Skim off any foam with a spoon.

Select a baking dish that is large enough to hold four ramekins (or other oven-proof containers) without touching.  Fold a dishtowel to line the bottom of the dish.  Place your ramekins in the pan and divide your mixture among them.  Place a piece of aluminum foil over the top of each to help prevent a skin from forming.

Slide the baking dish into the oven and pour hot tap water into the dish until it is halfway up the sides of the ramekins.  Bake until the custard is set around the edges but still slightly jiggles in the middle when shaken (about 40 minutes).

Carefully remove the ramekins (they will be hot) and let cool on a wire rack (discard the foil).  The custard will continue to set as it cools.  Meanwhile, whip the remaining ½ cup of heavy cream until soft peaks form (you can do this by hand or with a stand mixer).  Refrigerate both the cooled pudding and the whipped cream for a few hours.

Divide the whipped cream among the puddings and serve.

Makes 4

Notes:

1. These are best the day they are made.
2. If you do not have demerara, you might try using the Sugar In The Raw packets you see at coffee shops.  This is turbinado sugar and isn’t as deeply molasses-flavored but may be a good last-ditch effort.